The Officer's Temptation Ch. 05

Author's note to readers: There are no erotic scenes in this section of the story, so if that is what you are looking for, try an older installment or wait until the next one! Thanks for reading!

***

Marlowe could feel his heart banging in his chest. Its rhythm was as quick and uneven as a horse's gallop. The darkness pressed all around him, consumed his sight. He sensed Arabella near him, heard the small creak of the table behind her and the rustle of her silk dress as she pulled away from him and fiddled with her clothing. The smell of damp earth was thick in his nose, clotted with the warm musk of their bodies. Sweat was beading cold against his chest, causing his linen shirt to cling to his skin. His hands fluttered at his sides. He put them to use tucking his hem into his trousers, buttoning the flap on his breeches, smoothing his hair.

The voices were still outside-he strained his ears to hear. It was the lilting clop of the lower classes, not the rounded speech of the dinner party guests. Servants, then. He looked towards Arabella to reassure her, but could see only the faintest outlines of her features, the soft, silver curve of her cheek, wan as a crescent moon. He felt for her hand, but she yanked it from his grasp. The moments expanded, the voices grew louder. He prayed to God that the servants had not seen the flicker of light in the shed, but then abandoned his prayers mid-thought, chest tight with shame as he realized that he was praying to not be caught in the act of lying with another man's wife.

He cursed himself for his own reckless stupidity. The moments passed. The voices began to fade. The pressure in his chest eased and he felt his limbs loosen in relief. Arabella sighed beside him and leaned into his body. Lightening hot pain shot through his injured hand. He hadn't realized that he had been clenching it against the rough edge of the table. He swallowed, tried to steady his nerves. "I'll make sure they are gone," he whispered a moment later. She touched his arm in agreement.

He cracked open the door and blinked against the comparative brightness of the moon-lit night. The house lawns stretched before him, dark gray against the deep blue sky. There was no one in sight. No lanterns bobbed from the expanse of woods from whence they had come. The house windows were shut, though light still flared from their depths.

He opened the door wider for Arabella. "There's no one," he said. She slipped out, closing and latching the door behind her. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the key in the lock, but he heard it click as it turned home.

"Oh Marlowe," she whispered. "I was so afraid someone would find us!"

He touched her soft shoulder in reassurance, although it rankled him. The whole adventure had been Arabella's idea, after all. "It's alright, darling. Let's go on up to the house." He passed another hand through his hair, slightly damp and curling from his exertions, and took a breath of the sharp night air, trying to dislodge the musk of the dust from his nose.

They walked in breathless silence, clinging to each other's hands. As they passed a small line of box shrubs that delineated the small gardens, Arabella paused, pulling a hand through the branches. She came away with a handful of small, waxy leaves and immediately deposited them in her hair. "Since we are supposed to be coming from the wood," she said by way of explanation. "And my ankle, remember. You had better carry me.

"Of course." He had completely forgotten her convenient lie. He gathered her into arms. She threw her arms around his neck and leaned in close.

"I wish we could always be like this," she sighed. Her breath was pleasantly warm on his neck as he carried her towards the house. He thought of her lips, the pleasure he had felt encased in them. His neck and chest burned hot with the memories.

The door was in sight now, open against the night air. A lone maid was in the parlour, picking up a serving tray that had been left abandoned on the low table when the party had retreated on their walk. The cups on it chinked as she started in fright to see Marlowe suddenly appear at the door, the lady of the house swooning in his arms. Arabella groaned weakly. "Set me on the sofa, if you please, Lieutenant Hughes." Her voice was low and formal.

The maid took two halting steps backward. "Would you like me to fetch someone, mum?"

"Oh yes! Mrs. Elwell, if you please. Or Mary... Or both. I've turned my ankle rather badly, I'm afraid," she sighed as Marlowe settled her onto the sofa. He arranged a pillow behind her neck as the maid dipped her head and scuttled off.

Arabella winked at him and grinned as soon as the maid was gone. He had almost forgotten that she was faking, so pitiful had she sounded. He smiled at her gently. Tucked against the cushions of the sofa, she looked like a goddess lounging on Mount Olympus. A blonde curl stuck to her forehead. Her hair was really quite mussed. He longed to smooth it, but stayed his hand, knowing that the servants would soon return.

He sank into an armchair. "I cannot believe our luck," he said half to himself. He realized that he had been tense the whole time, and his muscles were sore from holding himself so rigid. "We must never be so reckless again," he said in an urgent whisper, glancing up at the face of his beloved.

She smiled at him serenely. "It would have been worth it, even if we had been caught," she said. "I have never known such joy, such exhilaration." Her face seemed illuminated from within. She was angelic, divine. He frowned at his hands, clasped over his knee.

Doubt niggled at his mind for a moment as he envisioned his father's stern face, his mother's biting disappointment, Nicholas's rage and torment at having been deceived... But of course, she was right. Anything was worth Arabella. "I'm so tired," he sighed, just as the housekeeper, Mrs. Elwell, arrived with Arabella's ladies maid, Mary, in tow.

Mrs. Elwell looked Arabella up and down. "Whatever happened to you, my lady?" she asked. She crossed her arms. Her tone was stern and direct. Marlowe suddenly realized exactly how disheveled they must look. His heartbeat picked back up. He sat straighter in his chair, squared his broad shoulders, and affected an air of impervious disinterest.

Arabella's eyes grew round. "I tripped over a root in the dark," she said. "I'm afraid I have turned my ankle. I was able to walk for a bit but then Lieutenant Hughes had to carry me the rest of the way, after I tumbled again. I slipped on some leaves." She blushed prettily and looked down. Her dark lashes fluttered.

Mrs. Elwell cleared her throat. "And your husband? The rest of the guests?"

"They continued on, of course." She looked at her ladies' maid. "Please, Mary, could you bring me some tea. And a comb? I must look an awful fright. I fell straight into the underbrush." She patted her hair weakly. A leaf tumbled to the floor at her cue.

"Of course, my lady." Mary left quickly, heels tapping against the floor.

"Let's see it then." Mrs. Elwell frowned at Arabella's legs. Arabella nodded weakly as Mrs. Elwell gently lifted the hem of her dress and felt against her ankle. "It doesn't seem swollen. I will need to check for bruising, my lady. Perhaps it would be better to have Lieutenant Hughes go to another room. We will need to remove your stocking."

Marlowe stood quickly. "It's no matter. I'll just see myself home," he said. He suddenly felt as if he needed to leave the dizzying light of Arabella's parlour. He could not bear to watch more of her charade with her housekeeper. It was setting his nerves, already frayed, on edge.

The thoughts turned his stomach. What happened when Mrs. Elwell could see that Arabella's ankle was perfectly fine? He had to leave. Immediately. He was already afraid that they could see what he was thinking, read his guilt as easily as a book. "Thank you so much for your hospitality tonight, Lady Balfrey. Please relay my thanks to your husband and let my parents know that I am returning home early." He dipped his head, knowing that his voice sounded stiff, too formal.

Arabella's lips puckered slightly into a pout. "As you wish, Lieutenant Hughes. Thank you so much for your... companionship this evening." Her eyes smiled at him.

He swallowed hard, hoping that Mrs. Elwell had not noticed the slight inflection in Arabella's voice, the hint of their shared secret, the fleeting expression on her face. He bowed to her quickly and left, feeling her dark green eyes on his back as he walked away as quickly as he dared.

*******

"We missed you after dinner last night." There was a note of reproach in his mother's voice, but it was tampered by the calming presence of the other guests. Marlowe sat with his family along with the three Jennings in their manor's sitting room. The air was heavy with afternoon sunlight, reflecting in hazy curves against the silver tea service sat to his side. The many-paned French doors had been thrown open, offering an expansive view of the back lawn and gardens. Marlowe sat on the edge of a plum-colored sofa, Miss Jennings on the other end. Mrs. Jennings sat near her daughter in an armchair- his mother draped across its twin to Marlowe's right. In the corner of the room, Mr. Hughes and Mr. Jennings were hovering over a table, clucking like old hens about the merits of Mr. Jenning's new timepiece.

"I wasn't feeling well," said Marlowe, pausing for a moment to sip from the small cup of white porcelain. Pink and red roses flowered under its gold rim. He glanced sideways at Miss Jennings. A dark curl fell across her face, escaping from its loose chignon. She smiled at him warmly, the corners of her deep blue eyes crinkling. Marlowe could not help but to smile in return.

"I hope that you are feeling better," Miss Jennings said. "It was so kind of you to help Lady Balfrey back to the house."

His mother eyed him waspishly. "And how did you find Lady Balfrey's company?"

Marlowe felt his neck grow warm and he loosened his cravat, stretching out his legs before him and letting his gaze settle on the warm glow of the gardens. Fat pink roses were hanging off of stems. He could swear that he could hear the buzzing of the honey bees that flew around them. A child laughed in the garden- the Jennings's much younger son, Louis, playing with his nanny. "She was pleasant enough to company, despite her injury."

His mother sniffed and fluttered her fan. "She seemed so especially taken with you. How on earth did you manage to charm her?"

Marlowe coughed slightly on his sip of tea. It was unexpectedly bitter. "I beg your pardon, mother, but I am not completely devoid of charm."

"Oh my dear Mrs. Hughes, you musn't taunt your poor son so," Mrs. Jennings cut in, giving Marlowe a sympathetic look. "You do not give him nearly enough credit." She looked at him warmly. "Such a brave and handsome young man.

His mother made a tutting sound. "Marlowe knows that I am simply vexed with him for his comportment the night that he met you."

Mrs. Jennings folded her hands in her lap. "Still? As I've told you, there was no harm done. He was only just come back from the war. I do understand how that changes men. And whatever the case, we're all the best of friends now."

His mother looked at Miss Jennings meaningfully and then back to Mrs. Jennings. "We would all be much closer friends if he had more manners, I'm sure."

"It is most disconcerting to be spoken about as if you are not present," interrupted Marlowe. He stood up abruptly. "I fancy a stroll around the gardens. Miss Jennings, perhaps you would like to accompany me?" He extended his hand.

She smiled at him and looked from her mother's face to his. "Yes, I believe I would." She arranged her thin shawl across her arms and followed him to the open doors after grabbing a parasol from a wicker basket beside the door. Marlowe's mother made smug eye contact with him before he looked away in annoyance.

They were soon out the doors and taking long strides down the green lawn. Miss Jennings grinned at him. "Couldn't wait to make your escape, could you?" she said as soon as they were out of earshot of the door.

Marlowe tilted his head up to the sun and sighed against the light breeze that rustled his dark hair. "Dreadful old cow. I have a new policy with my mother," he said. "I shall simply walk out the nearest door every time she sees fit to criticize me."

"Oh," gasped Miss Jennings, "then you will constantly be leaving!" She laughed and let her parasol fall to the side, tilting her face upwards as Marlowe had done. He could see the smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. She noticed him watching. "Mother says that I ought to protect my complexion. But the sun is too cheerful today. And I fear autumn will too soon be upon us. I must enjoy it while I may."

"Your mother is as mad as mine," he said. "I should hate for you to lose those freckles."

She touched her nose self-consciously. "Oh don't speak to me of the horrid things! Mother is constantly insisting that I wash them away with lemon juice!"

"Does that really work?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I just give the lemons to Queenie."

Marlowe looked at her in shock. "Does she eat them?" Queenie was the Jenning's family dog, a little white pug with black ears that Mrs. Jennings like to carry with her everywhere.

"Oh, she can't get enough of the things. Insatiable appetite for them! She makes the funniest little faces when she bites into them, as if she hates them, but then she goes right back, chewing away."

Marlowe laughed. "I don't believe you."

Miss Jennings laughed and shrugged. "I promise you it's true. But I don't think she eats them, really. Just gnaws on them and then carries them away to some little lair. I'm sure Mother will find a whole stack of rotting lemons one day and then I shall really be in for some trouble."

"And you shall deserve it, my dear Miss Jennings. I do believe lemons are quite toxic to dogs. You are going to make Queenie ill!"

"Oh nonsense!" grinned Miss Jennings. "If they made her ill, she would stop eating the things! And besides, I have never forgiven her for destroying one of my paintings. So if she is poisoned, so be it."

"What happened?"

"Before she was properly trained... well, pardon me for being indelicate, but let's just say that Queenie mistook one of my landscapes for the real thing and the canvas was ruined. I was livid." She lowered her hand to brush against a nearby fence of honeysuckle. The branches swayed with her passing. "I don't believe I have ever been so furious in my entire life. I chased that poor dog around the house, yelling at her. And mother was so unsympathetic to my plight. She made me apologize to the dog! As if the little monster hadn't just destroyed my very best painting!"

Marlowe "And so you've had a vendetta against Queenie since? How long ago was this?"

Miss Jennings blinked at him. "Why, it was just yesterday," she jested.

Marlowe had to stop walking as he was overcome by a deep laugh that seemed to swell up from his belly and fill his chest. He grinned at her stupidly. The sun shone around him and the low breeze was blowing off the fields, bringing up the scent of sun-warmed grass and wildflowers. The grass sprung around his boots, green and lush and inviting. He dropped himself down into it without warning. "Miss Jennings you astound me."

"Oh, Lieutenant Hughes, you do know that I am only teasing you, I hope. I am far too refined now to be chasing and screaming after naughty little pugs." She knelt near him, a half smile playing on her full lips.

"Are you too refined to sit in the grass, I wonder?"

"Now, my mother really would have my hide if I were to ruin another dress."

He shrugged his broad shoulders out of his black coat and threw it over the grass. "Here," he said. "It was too hot anyway." He rolled up his white sleeves to his elbows as Miss Jennings sank to the ground beside him, sitting tidily on his coat. She lay her parasol beside her knees.

"I think you owe me a story," she said, arranging her skirts over her legs in an appealing and ladylike manner.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I told you something unflattering about myself. Now you must do the same. To refuse would be most ungallant."

Marlowe hunched forward over his knees and let his fingers toy in the long grass. He breathed in the rich scent of the earth and the light floral scent of Miss Jenning's perfume. He closed his eyes again, letting the sunlight shine soft pink through the back of his lids. "I don't have any stories," he said offhandedly.

"That can't be true," said Miss Jennings. "Wasn't Lord Balfrey saying only last night that the two of you once stole a horse?"

Marlowe felt a sharp pain dart through his heart, like being stabbed with a pin, at the reminder of Nicholas. But he smiled as the memory surged warm through his blood. "It was an accident," he said. "Ni- Lord Balfrey should never have mentioned it."

"Well," sighed Miss Jennings, "you shall have to tell me the truth of it, or else I shall forever think you a thief. And a ruffian. And a knave. And a proper scoundrel... And... and a pirate!"

"A pirate!"

"Sorry, I couldn't think of any more and I've been reading the most delicious book about pirates." She jabbed him in the rib with the tip of her parasol. "So go on then, how did you steal the horse?"

"We were fourteen, if I correctly recall," said Marlowe, looking up into the sky. White clouds drifted like sails across its blue expanse. Blades of grass tickled at his hand. "And it was a hot, listless summer. Balfrey and I were wild for amusement, so we were often combing the woods, the town, getting into all manner of mischief with the townsfolk. My father had a new stallion at the same time, a thoroughbred. He was a dreadful thing- willful and stubborn and would nip at you if you disturbed him in a rotten mood. We called him Old Ralphe, after the butcher in town- he was red, you see, with white spots, much like Ralphe, who also had a fearsome temper. Father had paid a handsome price for him, though. He was to be put into the races and he was fearsome fast."

Miss Jennings was listening to him raptly, head bent forward over her knees. Her sapphire eyes smiled at him.

"And I was always pestering Father to ride him. For all his evil moods, he was my favorite horse. The whole town knew about him. I was always telling anyone who would listen how I would take him to the races and win as soon as Father let me. So imagine my surprise when one afternoon Balfrey and I saw Old Ralphe hitched to a cart outside the village. We immediately sprung into action, cut him from the cart and rode him as fast as we could back home."

Marlowe grinned at the memory, remembering how Nicholas had persuaded him not to charge inside and challenge the horse thief to a duel, how they had both climbed up on Ralphe, no saddles, just two skinny young boys, holding on for dear life as the capricious stallion gave them a bone-rattling ride through the countryside. As soon as they had reached the stables, he and Nicholas had basically fallen off the beast, sweating with knees trembling as much from exertion as their own daring.

"I was so impressed with myself. Balfrey and I went marching to find my father, to tell him what we had done... I've never seen him so angry. He told us that he had sold Ralphe only that morning when the old devil had nipped him during his morning ride."

Miss Jennings laughed in delight. "How perfect!"

"He took us right back into town, covered in dirt, and made us deliver Ralphe back to his new owner and apologize. I was mortified. And I'm sure my mother scolded me for days about learning to think before acting."

Miss Jennings brushed a curl behind her ear with a wry smile. "And did you learn anything?"